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Stranger In Moscow (or on the roads)

I got into the train and everybody stares at me. I look at one direction which
turns out to be the correct direction and everyone still looks my way.

How does it feel when you know you're the only correct person in the
whole wide universe?

Well, first you loose all your friends, then you
hear voices in your head and finally you fall asleep.

You wake up, and you realize 50 years has passed and everyone you know has died.

You find half of the land masses under water, no tree in sight for a million miles and
you say "they're alive!".

Then you reach the one beautiful place, you take in a breath of fresh air, walk along the beach, with Maxwell's waves washing suicidal sand castles and tiny birds plunging into the sun.

Deep into
the night, after the bonfire and twinkling stars you fall asleep again.

Minus 60 years, in the train, minus 10 years from the start of the
story/ dream. You and her, holding hands, oblivious to Einstein staring at you
from him relativity rocket. The train on course to Saturn.

Minus 55
years, on bed, minus 5 years from the story/ dream. You have a passionate,
loving, utterly mind blowing, super sensational sex. She falls at your side, you
smile back to her, she kisses him. You are standing outside the window, gazing
ever so silently at yourself making love. You realise you are dead?

Minus 53 years, beside a bonfire, minus 3 years from the story/ dream.
You are wondering if you're the only correct person in the universe. God
appears, and says 'GO TO HELL!'. You ask him to show the way. (That should teach
that bastard!)

Minus 52 years, on bed, minus 2 years from the story/
dream, minus 35 minutes from a tight slap. Sex with your teacher. Then it came
to you to ask about the math question. Stupidity. They never understand.

Fast
forward
20 years. In a spaceship near a black hole with Hawking's android. (and
the teacher as the voice of the computer). Black holes do emit radiation. (serves them right!). The event
horizon skews your probe, stretches it across its orbit, scares the computer
with its own image, whom then destroys the ship. God wakes you up, beautiful
maidens strolling naked along a river. You bite into a grape, God explodes. You
wake up, the mail man brings a lawsuit.
20 Years after you die. Your soul roams the streets of
Moscow. Strange greenish grey hue, sky darkish grey, one yellow car, dirty on
the side of the road. And you were still wondering why those people stared at
you 80 years ago. They must have known, you are the most correct person in the
universe. You tell yourself ' YOU ARE FREAKIN DAMN
SMART'.
2 years after the sex with the teacher, 5 years after the sex
with her, 10 years before the train ride. You're in a bus on a 10000 mile
journey. It will take you across the continents to your hometown. 2 days into
the journey, in an insane snow storm, you ask yourself who do you live for. The
snow rain trickles down the fogged up windows. Your daughter wakes up, all huddled up in her
warm blankets and coat and blows you an angel's kiss. You pick her up and hug
her. She's 4 years old.
As the sun rises, the moon still a few micro parsecs up, the
fogged up mountains glows yellow and gold. You snap a photo of the scenery, pack up your
little picnic and get abroad the bus. Your daughter, now 10 years old, immediately powers the
notebook and starts to webcast her journal. And she uploads the
photo. And you fall asleep on her laps, her fingers caressing your hair.
So now its a week after the 50 years in the future. You
finish up with the Journal Master. You lived a full life. But you fell asleep
too soon. The drugs and the journeys. Your daughter died when
she was 25. No one knew she had cancer. The 10000 mile journey ended when she
was 24. You reached the town, found your house clean and tidy. She was there
waiting, in a red dress, her blue eyes sparkling, her dark straight hair and her
warm touch. She hugged her, then you and then it was a year gone. Almost a year.
You left them, went to work, boarded the train, and everyone did not bother to
look at you. And 25 years after that, you wake up to find you're alone in bed.
The flowers in the vase are withering. The sun was shining a gray day, and the
midnight rain drops left postcard pictures along the wooden window, the trees
and mountains.
You forage the future, scavenging for anything you might find
remotely related to you. There were no cars in the streets, all the wooden
houses, the tall buildings animate an endless horizon. Con trails of spaceship
liftoff residue streaks the sky with fandango patterns, though very mechanical.
Oddly the sky looks bigger and wider, the sun looks far, the moon(s) looks like
falling pearls from an imaginary necklace. Or was it just a celestial
arrangement? A cosmological menace, causing dangerous tidal waves wrecking the
fragile earth. The signal ends. You fall onto the cold pavement, and snowflakes
starts to decorate your outline. Soon you die.
All that you missed in life dance in front of you,
on your final days. Layers of memory carapaces your clear vision. What do
you want to think now as everything has ended. Is this all you wanted
in life? Or was it a blast away from the norm, the trails leading you to a
different imagination. A frantic search for a link, and existence undefined but
surely you were alive and you had a history.
Each cell and each strand of DNA dissolves into its atomic
prints and then traverses back in time to progeny, where history erased you. The
bang (big) rewrote your time line, you died before you even existed.
The heaven, the dancing maidens, illusions of an Elysian field, many
heroes rest there, many returned to Valhalla. The daughter, lone daughter was your dream for a sister
that you never had, that wife was a wish for a life you wish you
lived. Red paints your likings, blue of blindness and grey skies of
a noir creativity you created ever so
beautifully and then hand painted it across star lights
and cosmological distances. Manic thoughts were erased through God's black hole where
even God desire not to thread. For science dies where men dares to go and then
comes alive when he explains it.
Sex for the days of merriment, teacher was the women who guided you the
same was your girl who became your wife. All of them are one. The
train was a trail in time trailing past futures of people who traced your
life and traces still the unknown future. They wrote the history in trains. Life
dissolves in waves of mercury washing the tiny atoms of creation, life goes on,
life doesn't
stop, the radial waves for the radial sun, the sunrise and sunset were the
extremes when you were born. Fragmented disillusion, memories fading, the trinity gap, the
religious order, the violence, the fear, that's why you
fell asleep, you
slept for the mythical 50 that means something to you rather than 42 which was
fiction and 1.68 which denotes the universe. Numbers were your fear,
religion was your tormentor, eternal rebirth ravaged your old soul. You
asked questions. Finally the answers came, and it was you. The answer to life
were you yourself. All the time, all the time.
No foundations, you walk on, walked for ages, your roots
severed, you only have your dreams. A mighty magnificent dream that was/
is.

Comments

Stranger in Moscow, the name in itself is intriguing...U have a strong creative oulse..N this creativity runs like a perennial river...Nice :)
Homo Escapeons said…
WO!
Ghosty what have you been ingesting? Fabulous little trip..man oh man you have a lot of ideas crammed into your head.
The only HOT teacher that I ever had was back in grade 6 and I wouldn't have known how to do anything about it.
Wild ride my friend.
QUASAR9 said…
Hi Ghost Particle,
truly inspired and by it all blown away, seems you started with just one word and it turned into a full flow.

Oddly the sky looks bigger and wider, the sun looks far, the moon(s) looks like falling pearls from an imaginary necklace. Or was it just a celestial arrangement? A cosmological menace, causing dangerous tidal waves wrecking the
fragile earth. The signal ends. You fall onto the cold pavement, and snowflakes starts to decorate your outline. Soon you die.
All that you missed in life dance in front of you, on your final days. Layers of memory carapaces your clear vision.


Alas, for sure we shall never know, where death is the end or there is more. For sure we search and search for evermore, but we do not know the outcome of our journey till we reach the destination.
I guess really if we can see all of our lives flash before us in the few seconds before we fall (asleep) - relativity - our lives could be described like a tale - are we just an open book, another biography, another story waiting to be told.

Is it all just like a film waiting to unfold, are our memories 9and dreams) just like the rewind and fast forward buttons on the video or dvd - and we but the image on the screen - what is to be is to be or what will be will be - but even hollywood if not bollywood offers more than one ending - maybe more like a video game life be - depending on which pulse which trigger so the outcome be - an outcome of many possivbilities already defined in code Cosmic Code
and DNA damcing momentarilly on the giant silver screen produced by background radiation.

Have a great weekend - in Russia, China, India - or wherever your waking hour dream may 'appear to be
Pauline said…
Wow, quite the read. If you hear applause it is from me!
Nahuatl said…
??

Anything new? :P hihihi
an1mz said…
wow.. that some creative writing. nice.
starry nights said…
That was an amazing ride and a wonderful trip.You have a vivid imagination.
Cinderella. said…
Hey how are ya ???
Now, now ghost..this is one LONG journey. I need to revisit. My attention span seems to be non existent today!
White Forest said…
How does it feel when you know you're the only correct person in the
whole wide universe?

Perfectionist ?
He will be started irrespective of where he is going and wat he is doing!
White Forest said…
stared* sorry!
tulipspeaks said…
that was a good read, gp.


=ammu=

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...you

for, its during the rainy seasons
when we sit admiring
the cool breeze and wandering droplets
we realize we are admiring the beauty of loneliness
from afar, of you and me

[feast]